


...And That Has Made All the Difference

by tryslora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Children, Community: wizsprogs, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Marriage, Mpreg, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-10
Updated: 2012-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-11 20:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco is desperate for a son. His wife has given him three beautiful daughters, but the Malfoy line must continue and Astoria can no longer bear children. Draco chooses to look outside his marriage for a chance to get pregnant and guarantee himself an heir. He takes a chance and goes arse up for Neville Longbottom and is able to conceive. But Neville isn’t the sort to simply stand by and let someone take his family away, and life gets very complicated for Draco very quickly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	...And That Has Made All the Difference

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a prompt appleling left for the summer round at wizsprogs. I had a wonderful time writing it, and the story was truly driven by the concept of integrating Neville and Astoria.
> 
> As always, the characters are owned by JK Rowling, and I just like to play with them.

“I’ve heard a rumor.”

Draco glanced up as the door pushed open. “Sandra, I thought I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed?” he said mildly, ignoring the man who stood there, filling the empty space all too well. Who would have thought that Neville Longbottom would grow so tall and broad?

“I’m sorry, Mr. Malfoy, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

He couldn’t see his assistant past Longbottom, but he heard the anxiety in her voice and he sighed. She was good at what she did, but she found it impossible to stand up to anyone insistent, which meant that Draco was interrupted often. “It’s fine, Sandra, but right now, when I state that I do not want to be disturbed, I mean it,” he said, tone dry. “Longbottom, close the door.”

“No.” He crossed his arms, watching closely as Draco rose, smoothing robes down over his form. “I don’t think that’s the best of ideas.”

“And I believe I’d prefer to keep the business of your case private.” Draco’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “After all, we can’t possibly rely on solicitor/client confidentiality if we leave the door open.” A flick of his wand, and the door closed with a soft thunk, privacy spells locking into place at the same time. “You were saying?”

“You’re pregnant.” Neville kept his voice low and flat, brow furrowed. Draco fought to keep his expression even, but knew he failed when Neville smiled wryly. “And you didn’t plan to tell me, did you.”

It wasn’t a question, but Draco shrugged one shoulder as he responded anyway. “It didn’t seem like something you might like to know,” he said calmly. “It isn’t as if this is a relationship, Longbottom. It’s an occasional shag.”

Neville blinked twice, then shook his head. “Is that what you think? You’re carrying my child.” He nodded at Draco, taking a step closer, then another, until he loomed over him. “That makes this a relationship now. You, me, and the baby.”

Draco didn’t like the way this made him feel, the way he sensed exactly how close Neville was, and the sudden body memory of those large, capable hands on his own pale skin. He pursed his lips thinly, biting back the urge to lean closer, slide his hands up Neville’s chest. Beg silently for a kiss. Or a shag.

It would be so easy to turn around and put his hands on his desk, arse in the air. He saw the sudden light in Neville’s eyes and knew the same thought had occurred to him.

It only took a moment and Neville picked him up, turned him around and came up close behind him, hips pressed to hips as Draco’s hands scrabbled for purchase on the desk. “You like it like this,” Neville murmured, lips finding the spot where Draco’s neck meets his shoulder, teasing beneath his collar. His robes were lifted, shoved above his waist, and his pants were tugged down. One broad hand covered his belly as Neville groaned, and Draco pressed back, feeling the thick cock that was still hidden by robes.

“Fuck me,” Draco ordered, and Neville laughed then, slapping his hip sharply.

“Don’t rush things,” he said, voice low and warm, a sound that coiled in Draco’s belly and heated him from the inside out. “But you’ll be wanting to give me lube.”

It was just like Neville to assume that Draco would have some here, in his office, just in case. And of course, he was right. “ _Accio lube!_ ” Draco spoke quickly, and the third drawer flew open, the tube skittering across the desk until it landed by his hip. He swayed, cock pressing against the cold wood. He was already hard and aching, his prick weeping droplets of fluid as he waited, anticipating Neville’s touch.

It was slow when it came, as careful as Neville ever was. One hand closed around Draco’s prick, stroking it firmly from root to tip, wanking him with the slow movement of his foreskin until Draco’s hips jerked involuntarily. “Not yet,” Neville said, because he never finished anything quickly. Careful. Methodical. But oh so fucking brilliant.

Neville slicked up two fingers and slid them into Draco, driving them knuckle deep in one stroke. He curled them, twitching inside of Draco until he cried out, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the wood so he could press back, begging. “More,” Draco pleaded. “Give me more.”

Another finger then, and a fourth, stretching his bum wide which was exactly what he needed. Neville’s cock was short and thick, as wide around as Draco’s clenched fist and only half again as long. He felt the thick head press into him and he cried out again at the invasion. It burned, but Merlin, it felt brilliant at the same time. He hadn’t imagined it would be like this, that having something fill him would be what he wanted. But he loved the feel of being stretched wide, pushed to his limits, fucked so thoroughly that he wanted to scream.

Neville’s hand wrapped around his prick again and Draco pressed back, urging him to fuck him hard. Every thrust rocked Draco forward into Neville’s hand, fucked and wanked at the same time until the world slipped away into a low red haze of pleasure. His balls tightened and he cried out, fingers raw against the desk as he tensed and came. It was several more strokes before Neville grunted, spilling into him.

Draco gasped in a slow breath, trying to bring some tiny essence of control back to the situation. “And this would be one of those occasional shags.” His head was pillowed on his arms against the desk, breath warm as it circulated between himself and the hard wooden surface. “My pregnancy is none of your business.”

Neville pressed forward, cock softening but still thick in Draco’s bum. “I had a part in creating that child,” he said, voice low as he leaned over Draco’s back, mouth finding his shoulder blades, his throat. “It’s as much my business as it is yours. Maybe you should’ve thought of that before we shagged.”

Neville’s hands were large and work-roughened, yet gentle in their touch as they skated over Draco’s skin. Draco shivered in response, his exhausted body wanting to respond. “You don’t have to worry; I don’t expect anything from you.”

“Except the occasional shag?” Neville asked mildly, and Draco wondered what he was missing in that tone. He pushed back, wanting to get free, to turn around so he wasn’t just lying here still vaguely aroused by every touch. But Neville was the one in control, and Draco couldn’t move.

“I wouldn’t mind the occasional shag,” Draco admitted. He’d miss them if it just ended. It had started out as something simple: find a pureblooded bloke who was bent enough to fuck him despite the fact that he was known to be straight, not to mention that he was an ex-Death Eater. It was a one in a million chance for a wizard to get pregnant, but Draco had figured that if anyone could do it, it’d be Neville Longbottom. The man’s fingers were magic; he was a walking fertility spell where his plants were concerned. Draco had hoped it would be the same for him, and after six months, it seemed he was right.

Six months of shagging Neville Longbottom. He refused to think just how good that was.

Draco shrugged one shoulder, and added, “That is, if you’re interested in me and not the child. This child will belong to Astoria and I.” He smiled slightly. “My son. My heir.”

Which had been the entire point behind finding a bloke of good _pure_ blood. Two men couldn’t produce a daughter; magic couldn’t override simple biology. So while Draco could have possibly found a lovely pureblood girl and convinced her to have his bastard, there was a chance it would have been yet another daughter (in addition to the three he already had) to raise. No, he had to guarantee a son, and thus, he was arse up for Longbottom.

Which, as it had turned out, wasn’t so bad.

“Our son,” Neville said mildly. He pulled back and brought out his wand, cleansing them both with the skill borne from cleaning up after hundreds of mishaps throughout his life. He tugged Draco’s robes back into place. “I’m not going to abandon my child, Malfoy. I know what it’s like to grow up without parents—"

“He’ll have _parents_ ,” Draco snapped, one eyebrow rising as he turned to face Neville, arms crossed. “He will have myself and Astoria. He will have no need to know that he ever had another.”

Silence fell, Neville’s expression wounded as the larger man swallowed hard. “You are a bloody selfish prick,” he finally said, voice low. “That child is my family as much as yours. You might think he’s a bloody Malfoy, but he’s just as much a Longbottom. _My_ family, and I haven’t got much of that to begin with. I’m going to be a part of his life, Malfoy. So you’d just best deal with that concept now, and it’ll go easier once he’s born. And in the meantime…” Neville’s gaze swept over Draco, from his disheveled hair to the flush on his skin, and he smiled tightly. “No more random shags. You’ve got what you wanted from me, haven’t you? There’s no bloody point to it anymore.”

This wasn’t how the script was supposed to go. Draco had worked this out before he had gone down this path. After the catastrophic events of the birth of their third daughter, Astoria and Draco knew her childbearing years were done. He had not discussed this with her, but he knew that once he presented her with the end result, she would willingly acknowledge the child as her own. And he would present a contract to Longbottom, paying him handsomely for his silence. “You haven’t heard my offer yet,” Draco said, tone smooth as he shifted into his solicitor’s voice. “I haven’t drawn up the final contract, but I can assure you, you’ll be taken care of quite handsomely. All I require is that you not speak—“

“I’ll speak,” Neville said flatly. “I’m not a bloody stud, Malfoy. You can’t pay me for getting you up the duff.”

“There’s no need to be vulgar,” Draco chided.

“Isn’t there? I can’t see anything civilized about this situation,” Neville countered. “Whatever you’ve planned, rethink it, Malfoy. That’s my child as much as yours, and I’ll be a part of his life. You’d best deal with that now; it’ll make it easier on us both once he’s born.”

Neville pulled open the door, and Draco saw a rush of movement as Sandra stepped away quickly. He smiled tightly; he knew she was a sneak when he hired her, but that’s why her contract specified her silence under pain of magical retribution.

“How did you happen to hear that particular rumor, Longbottom?” Draco kept his tone mild, despite the seething that had begun. He wanted to know who had whispered it about, and how far the rumor had traveled.

“Lavender Brown.” Neville smiled slightly, and it took Draco a moment to remember the woman. Pretty, blonde hair that seemed just on the edge of brown. Thick scars winding down the side of her face and up her arm. She had worn the robes of an apprentice when she assisted the Healer during his appointment the other day. Draco’s lips pressed thin as he nodded his understanding.

“You don’t need to worry,” Neville added. “She hasn’t gone telling everyone. Yet.”

Yet. Draco turned his gaze on Sandra as Neville left, skewering her with a sharp glare. “I do not want to be disturbed,” he reminded her. “No matter who it might be.”

The feel of his door slamming did little to improve his mood. How had he lost control of this already, and to Longbottom of all people? 

#

Astoria waited for Draco to come home. She sat in the wingback chair by the fireplace, her knitting in hand, the bag with her yarn on the floor as she worked the pattern of a brightly coloured sock. It wasn’t that she needed to knit, but rather that she needed something to do with her hands at idle moments. Knitting provided that something, and it required little thought as long as she kept with simplistic patterns.

The fireplace roared then faded before Draco stepped through, meticulously brushing soot from his robes.

“It’s late,” Astoria murmured, not looking up from her needles just yet. “You ought to go see the girls. They’ve already been tucked in, but Caelie was asking after you to kiss her goodnight.”

She glanced up in time to catch his slow, fond smile. “How long has it been?” he asked as he shrugged out of his outer robes. “Do you think Caelie might still be awake?”

This was what their conversations had been reduced to in recent years: discussing their girls. Their lives revolved around the girls, but somewhere their own relationship had been left behind. “I believe I heard her whispering to her doll,” Astoria replied. She wrapped her knitting carefully and tucked it into her bag. Standing she came forward, tilting her head towards Draco and waiting until he dropped a kiss on her cheek. “I might have heard the doll whispering back,” she continued with a smile, fond of their eldest and her early displays of magic. “Daeneira is asleep, and Glyneth ought to be waking up for one more meal before she’s down for the night.”

“I can give Glyneth her bottle if you’d like.” His hand touched the small of her back and with a nod, she accompanied him into the hall. “But first I’d best see Caelie.”

“Draco.” Astoria stopped, waiting for him to turn back. Her smile felt brittle as she let it bloom. “Not yet. We need to talk first.”

“About?”

She recognized that frigid expression as he retreated behind the famed Malfoy mask. “About the owl you received from Healer Brown with your schedule of appointments,” she said calmly. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Astoria already knew the truth. She recognized the Healer that Brown worked with, knew what those appointments meant. But she wanted to hear it from Draco himself, and to understand how this had come to be. She could guess why easily enough.

Draco stood stiffly, sharp chin tilted slightly upwards, jaw set in a sour expression. Astoria waited. She could stand here waiting all night if that’s what it took for him to begin speaking. The girls were fine, and they would still be there for him to kiss later. She kept her smile as calm and placid as she could.

“I’m pregnant,” Draco said mildly, although she saw the shaking of his hands. “It will, of course, be a boy, and my heir. We needed someone to carry on the Malfoy name.”

“And I could not give you that,” she said quietly. It was her failing, that she had managed to give him three daughters, the last of which nearly killed her and left her barren. He hadn’t bothered to come to her bed since. “I understand, Draco.” She didn’t like the idea that he was doing _that_ with some _man_. She didn’t understand his _needs_ and never had, although she was well aware that she wasn’t his first choice in her bed. But she understood this, that an heir was required and that she could not provide it. She didn’t like it, but she understood.

“And who is the other father?” Her chin tilted, one eyebrow arched as she waited. “I do deserve to know whose child I will be raising, Draco. You might have considered including me on the decision.”

After all, he had not waited long. Glyneth was only four months old, and here he was, already pregnant. He must have stepped out not long after she had given birth. If not before.

The muscle in his jaw twitched. “Neville Longbottom.”

Astoria remembered him from Hogwarts, a small round boy with quiet eyes. A Gryffindor. But impeccable bloodlines from what she knew. “I see. Do you intend to keep seeing him now that you have what you want?”

There was something there behind Draco’s eyes, quickly shuttered away before he sneered. “Of course not. I have no need of him anymore, and he will have nothing to do with our son. You’ve no need to worry, Astoria. I will not bring shame on our family.”

She could tell that he hadn’t thought this through. “Then plan to take time off work, Draco, and closet yourself here, lest the world see you become large and bloated while I remain svelte. They will know he is your son and not mine, and there is nothing you can do to stop the scandal, unless we leave now and return after the child is born.”

He smiled then, sharp and biting as if she’d given him the answer to a difficult problem. “I shall make arrangements for our holiday. In France, perhaps? I do enjoy Nice.”

“And what of the Healers who already know the truth?” Astoria knew there were details to be wrapped up. “Shall I handle those as I see fit? I am quite certain you can procure the services of a Healer on the Continent. One who will know how to remain appropriately silent.”

Draco leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Handle what you will as you choose, Astoria. Begin packing tomorrow. We shall leave in three days.”

He left her there in the hallway as he strode off to see their daughters. Astoria knew that this conversation wasn’t complete, nor was it likely to be as easy as Draco seemed to think. After all, there was another man involved. And Draco was pregnant. She wondered exactly how simple he thought it could be to carry a child.

She laughed softly to herself. The next few months would be trying, she suspected, but at the same time, she couldn’t think of anything more entertaining to watch.

#

Neville didn’t like France.

Truth be told, Neville didn’t much like leaving Great Britain. Perhaps that made him a bit of a homebody, yes, but it was the way he was. In the last several years he’d had to travel to Japan, Korea, Vietnam, Poland, Italy, Venezuela, and of course France. Each and every time he couldn’t wait to get back home.

Even a trip to the States was marked by anxiety every time he stepped out the door, although there at least they spoke the same language.

But here in Nice, he didn’t have work to distract him. Instead, there was a beach and bright sun and he could see people in the distance. He had dressed to blend in, robes set aside in favor of shorts and a loose light shirt that he’d already yanked off because of the heat. He slung it over his shoulder, unwilling to vanish it and risk being unable to bring it back.

The houses along the beach were scattered, but he’d been given directions to the one he sought. It wasn’t larger than the others, which surprised him, but it was certainly more than large enough for the family that he knew resided in it. He imagined it could likely fit that family and two more, if they were friendly.

Not that Draco Malfoy was particularly friendly with anyone.

He stood at the door for a long moment, then drew a deep breath and knocked. He wore a stubborn expression, set into what Gran called his “Gryffindor face” as he waited, not wanting to seem as if he’d give an inch to the man who’d run off with his child.

“Hello?”

Neville had to look down to find the source of the voice. The little girl was four, maybe five, and looked as if she’d stood on tiptoe to open the door. Pale hair framed an equally pale face, her features saved from being too sharp by the chubby cheeks that offset her pointed chin, giving her face the shape of a heart. She blinked wide ice blue eyes up at him, and waited for a response.

“Caelie, did I hear the…oh!” The woman who came around the corner was petite, her hair a shade darker than Draco’s although still pale, and her skin tanned from days in the sun. “Caelie, you know you’re not supposed to open the door to strangers,” she admonished, tugging the little one away and nudging the child behind her.

“He’s not a stranger,” Caelie protested. “I saw his picture in Papa’s—“

“Caelie.” The woman’s voice was sharp. “Please, go check on your sisters.”

“Yes, Mama.” The girl peeked out from behind her mother’s leg and gave a small wave at Neville, who smiled and waved back. He wondered how Draco had had such a willful imp, then decided that perhaps that wasn’t so surprising after all. She was likely spoiled terribly and would be a complete prat when she reached Hogwarts age, much like Draco himself had been.

Neville shoved a hand through his fringe, sighing. Malfoy was still a complete prat. It was just a pity Neville hadn’t thought things through before shagging him.

“You’re Neville Longbottom.” She looked, for a moment, as if she would close the door, but a noise from beyond drew her attention. With a small moue of frustration, she pulled the door wide. “I can’t leave the girls, so you might as well come in. But that does not mean I approve of you indulging in your _activities_ with Draco in this house.”

Neville’s jaw set, irritated by her response. “You must be Astoria, then. And I didn’t come to indulge. He’s stolen my child.”

“He carries it.” Astoria shrugged and closed the door, then motioned for him to follow. He felt oddly like a giant in this house, her head coming barely to his shoulder. “I do believe that as long as he carries the child, it is his. You merely helped create it.”

“I beg to differ.” Irritation tinged his tone and he didn’t bother to hide it. “We created the child together, and it is ours. _He_ is ours. I’m not going to be turned out of his life. He’s my son as much as Malfoy’s.”

“No one will know that,” Astoria said mildly. “After all, how could Draco possibly be pregnant?”

Neville blinked. “Er. You haven’t seen the Prophet recently, have you?” he asked, the words slow and careful, as if she were a rogue potion that might explode out of the cauldron. “They already know. If this—“ he gestured at the halls around them. “If this is meant to keep it a secret, it didn’t work.”

“Was it you that told the press?” Her frosty tone reminded him of Draco. It reminded him of every pureblood he’d known who was a part of society, rather than old blood from the working world, like himself. It didn’t scare him, not anymore.

“They don’t know it’s my baby,” Neville allowed. “But I don’t see the problem in saying, if someone asked me directly. I don’t know who told the press originally. Lavender says not her. Likely someone who saw him at St. Mungo’s.” A small rueful smile. “You can’t keep things like this a secret. Truth will out, and it only looks worse if you’re hiding it. Be proud of everything, faults or otherwise.”

Astoria flicked her wand; Neville felt rough privacy charms narrow sound to them alone. “My husband had an affair in order to carry a child,” she said flatly, arms now crossed. “That will be a scandal, no matter how it comes out. It already is.”

“He’s hardly the first wizard to go this route to get a son and heir,” Neville said mildly, “and he won’t be the last. It’s known how difficult your last daughter was for you, so folks suspect that’s it, that he can’t risk you. They say he loves you enough to be fucked by a bent bloke. Folks think he’s doing what needs must to continue the line.”

“What about you?”

Neville wasn’t sure he followed the question. “I just want to know my son,” he said firmly. “Malfoy doesn’t want to keep shagging and that’s fine, since that’s all it was. He’s your husband after all. You’ve first claim on him, and I’m certain he’s happy to be back in your bed.” Although that was likely to get a bit awkward, Neville thought, as Malfoy’s stomach grew. 

But he told himself again that this was the right way to do it. Malfoy was a prat, and an arse, and Neville didn’t need to shag him, no matter how bloody good it felt. But Neville wouldn’t let go of his son. Family was far too important, and he had far too little of it as it was. He wasn’t going to let this bit go, even if it was half Malfoy.

He tried to read Astoria’s silence, but her expression said nothing. Or maybe it spoke too much; he wasn’t certain. Either way, Neville had never learned to speak the subtleties of societal Pureblood body language, and couldn’t tease out the bits that screamed around her silence until she finally nodded curtly. “I’ll have Tilly make up one of the guest rooms,” she said. “You can stay for a time, and discuss it with him.”

Neville didn’t intend to _discuss_ anything. Neville intended to say his piece and be done. After all, the child was his son, and he wasn’t going to give up, no matter what else Draco Malfoy might have in mind.

#

“What are you doing here?” Draco spoke sharply, as if two of his daughters weren’t listening to every word.

“Papa!” Daeneira wrapped her arms around his leg, hugging tightly.

“Hullo, Papa, we’re growing flowers for Mama!” Caelie chirped, a small bloom carefully cradled in her hands. “Now, Mister Longbottom. Make it grow _now_. I want it to have _three_ flowers on it. Can they be purple?”

“This sort of flower isn’t purple, and if we did change it with magic, that’d only fade,” he said mildly. “But if we let it stay yellow, it’ll be big and beautiful for days for your Mama.” Neville tapped his wand against the bloom in her hands, and Caelie giggled as it grew into the flowers the girl had requested. “Why don’t you go give it to her then,” he suggested, waiting until Caelie and her sister had run off with the flowers before he stood from where he had been crouched down to the girls’ level.

Neville brushed his hands off. “My son’s here,” he pointed out. “So I’ve decided to come along. I won’t be shut out, Malfoy.”

“I didn’t take you for a dim man,” Draco said snidely. “We’ve already discussed this.” A twinge caught him, and he winced, hands at the back of his hips as he bent backwards, trying with the twist of his body to convince his son to shift and move into a more comfortable position. “I supplied a contract.”

“Which I didn’t sign.”

Draco’s brows drew together, lips pursed. “I’m quite sure my solicitor—“

Neville shook his head. “I didn’t sign the contract, Malfoy. I never intended to, and I won’t. That’s my son you’re carrying. _Our_ son.”

Our son.

The words hit a nerve Draco didn’t know he had, curling around his heart and sliding down into his belly to settle warmly there. As if in reaction, his child poked a querying hand or foot into his side, and Draco’s hand reflexively fell to massage that spot as he mused over the words. _Our son_. That sounded far too… cozy. And far more disturbing was the realization that he didn’t actually mind.

This couldn’t be borne, not if he was to maintain his way of life. His voice was ice cold when it came out, several steps past merely chill. “Don’t be daft, Longbottom. I have a wife. I have no need for you in my life, and neither will my son. I have what I needed of you.”

“They know.” Neville said it simply as if he expected Draco to know exactly what he meant.

“ _Who_ knows _what_?” Draco asked petulantly. “No one knows a thing, Longbottom. That’s the entire point of this trip. When we return, Astoria will have apparently given birth to a lovely son and no one will know the difference.”

He watched as Neville reached into a pocket and withdrew a well-folded piece of paper. He untucked the edges, carefully laying it flat before handing it across to Draco, who took it with a sinking sensation.

His own picture was visible on the front page of the Prophet, a photograph that had obviously been taken here in Nice, his bathing trunks riding low on his hips, the swell of his belly barely visible. Astoria walked nearby along the beach carrying Glyneth while their two elder daughters ran between them. _Malfoy Pregnant?_ The headline seemed to scream the words. Draco’s jaw clenched. 

“The contract is null and void if you have said a word,” he bit out.

“I didn’t sign the contract,” Neville repeated patiently. “And it wasn’t me. I haven’t said a bloody thing except to Lavender, and she’s not the one who took it to the press either. She owled me soon as she saw it to warn me that someone let it slip.” He reached out and took the paper back from Draco’s limp fingers, carefully folding it up to put it back in his pocket. He had a faint smile as he did so. “Someday he’ll want to hear about when he was born. Figure I ought to keep all the scandal, so he’ll know what a splash he made. If he’s anything like his other father, he’ll be glad to know he was in the limelight before he was even born.”

Draco winced again as his son kicked in reaction to those words. He rubbed at his side, fingers jerking away when Neville’s settled there as well to feel the small press of foot against abdomen.

“He knows we’re talking about him,” Neville said.

“I doubt that. He knows I’m upset.” Draco sank down to a crouch, elbows on his knees, head bowed in his hands. Society knew. This was exactly the kind of thing he had hoped to avoid. “Astoria—her reputation.”

“And yours.”

Draco glared at Neville. “Do they know he is yours?” Once Society realized he’d gone arse up for an heir, the next question they would have is for who. “No, they can’t, not if you haven’t said. Only you and I know.”

“And Astoria,” Neville pointed out, which Draco knew ought to have been obvious. He blamed the child he carried, who seemed to have stolen more of his reasoning with every pound he gained. “And Lavender.”

“I take it she’s your girlfriend?” Draco asked, head bowed once more. The darkness was calming, and being crouched was perhaps one of the most comfortable positions he’d found recently. He tried to imagine Neville with the woman he remembered, tried to imagine him pounding into her the way he had Draco. He felt a furious, irritable heat rise to his cheeks.

“She’s one of my best mates,” Neville replied. “I’m gay, Malfoy. Thought I wasn’t, for a while, since good pureblood blokes generally aren’t. But I figured there’s no point torturing some poor woman into being my wife just to look proper. I’d rather be happy, and not make anyone else miserable along the way.”

Draco laughed sharply. “And here I thought you were honest, Longbottom. Blunt. Why don’t you just exercise that Gryffindor mentality and dive right in and tell me the truth of what you think? You believe my marriage is a sham, and that Astoria is miserable. I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth.”

Neville crouched in front of him, framed his face in his hands and forced Draco to look at him. “I’m not talking about your marriage, Malfoy. If you’re gay or not, if you and Astoria are happy or not: that’s your marriage and your problem. I just want to be in my son’s life.”

Draco heard what remained unsaid there as well: Neville wanted to be in his son’s life, but wasn’t worried about being in Draco’s life to have it. Not that Draco could have Neville in his life. He was married. He had a wife he loved, and three daughters he adored.

And a lover he wanted desperately, even now, even here. Even knowing that his wife could come find him at any moment. His eyes closed as he swallowed back the words along with the impulse to snog Neville and see where it led.

“You can stay for a week.”

“Thank you.”

Grey eyes opened; Draco pinned Neville with a sharp gaze. “We will discuss this again. That was not an invitation to take my son.”

“Our son.” Neville smiled. He pushed himself to standing and offered Draco a hand, fingers tangling warmly as he helped him up. “And I didn’t think it was. But you’ll come around, Malfoy. You won’t deny the boy his family.”

“He has a family,” Draco said dryly.

Neville laughed, a low sound that wound around Draco’s heart and tugged him in. “He has more family than most boys do,” Neville agreed. “Two fathers, one mum, and three sisters. He’s blessed that way. Far more than either of us ever was.”

#

A week bled into a month, and a month slowly became two. As Draco grew rounder, Astoria became accustomed to the extra person in their household. She was ill at ease at first, wary of what the two men might do, but she soon realized that Neville had no designs on her husband. On the other hand, Neville was a great help with the children.

“Did you have younger siblings?” she asked one day as he cradled Glyneth and gave her a bottle.

Neville looked up and smiled faintly. “No. I was raised by my Gran. But my mates Ron and Hermione have two already, and Harry’s got three already himself. I’ve become rather good at giving bottles and changing nappies.” He lifted the wee one to his shoulder and gently patted her back until she burped. “Kids seem to like me.”

“I’ve noticed.” Astoria had seen how Caelie and Daeneira flocked to him whenever they could. “I can’t blame them. You’re patient. Not many men are.”

Draco loved his daughters, she knew, but at the same time he was easily frustrated by their continuous question and need for attention. His temper grew shorter as his belly grew larger, and in his self-made absence, the girls turned to Neville instead. Which certainly didn’t help Draco’s mood. Astoria had caught him staring at Neville and the girls more than once, his expression open in ways that made Astoria positive that Draco didn’t know he was being observed. Neville might not be interested in Draco, but Astoria knew her husband was most certainly interested in Neville. And thoroughly jealous of the rapport Neville had with the girls.

“I like children,” Neville said. “Never thought I’d have any of my own. Being gay.” He cast a sidelong glance at her. “Not all Wizards can get pregnant. You see why he’s important to me.”

He—their son. Not he—her husband. Astoria saw the difference. “I see,” she murmured. “And what of Draco?”

Neville’s head bent, focus intent upon the baby in his arms. “What of him?” His hair had grown longer while in Nice, and Astoria thought it might need a trim. It had waves now that slid past his eyes, hiding his expression from her view. It seemed out of place on him, and yet, it looked good.

“He watches you.” Astoria reached out to take Glyneth, cradling the small one and starting to sway lightly. “I believe he still wants you.”

Neville’s cheeks coloured brightly. “This isn’t proper for us to discuss.” He refused to look at her.

Astoria snorted, an indelicate sound. “My husband is carrying your child. I do believe our lives have already gone past improper and into a realm which has no set rules other than _avoid scandal_. Being as we have already failed at that, then it falls to us to become trend setters and create new rules. Ones which we can live by.”

“He loves you,” Neville said. “And he loves his daughters. It’s clear to see when I watch him.”

“I know.” And she did. Astoria didn’t doubt that Draco loved her in his own way. But she did know that he lied to himself about what he really wanted, and that he had chosen duty over a life of happiness. He told her that she made him happy, but she didn’t bring the same light to his eyes that his daughters did. And she had never been given the hunger that burned naked in his gaze at Neville Longbottom. “But he feels something for you as well, Neville.”

“And what do you think I ought to do with that?” Neville said with a shrug. “You’re married, and you’ve three daughters together. All I want is access to know my son and help raise him.”

“I think we can accommodate that,” Astoria murmured. “Let me settle Glyneth and check on the girls to make sure they are still napping. Then we should sit down for a talk.”

Neville’s smile bloomed slowly, warming to a grin. “We’re already talking, aren’t we?”

“Not like this we aren’t.” She cradled her daughter in one arm and let her other hand rest on Neville’s shoulder. “Leave this to me, Neville.”

Because Astoria had a _plan_ , and she would change the world. After all, it was exactly as she had said: if you didn’t like the current trend, change it. She intended to lead the way into the world she desired, and others could follow or get out of her way. What Astoria Greengrass Malfoy wanted, she would get.

#

When Draco had retreated from the beach that afternoon, complaining about the heat and his aching back, Neville and Astoria had put her plan into action. Astoria had taken the girls into town for the afternoon, promising the older two ice cream and games.

Neville had gone back to the cottage on the beach. He let himself in quietly, toeing off his shoes to pad barefoot through the house until he paused at the doorway to the room Draco shared with Astoria. Draco lay curled on the bed, his arms wrapped around a pillow as if it were a lover. He was still dressed as if he had been too exhausted to do more than leave his shoes by the closet.

Neville sat down carefully, trying not to disturb Draco. He let one hand slide over Draco’s shoulder, feeling the other man move beneath him, pressing into the touch. Fingers slipped under Draco’s shirt, caressing the swollen abdomen, pressing when their child pressed towards him. With a rough swallow, Neville stretched out behind Draco and closed his eyes, tugging him against his chest.

It felt odd to be here like this, in this bed, with permission to ravage his ex-lover. And Neville couldn’t deny that he wanted Draco. But he wasn’t sure Astoria was right about how Draco felt in return. Draco was proper to a fault, the perfect pureblood. What Astoria had conceived of was impossible. But it didn’t stop Neville from pressing a kiss to the skin of Draco’s shoulder where his shirt had slipped and bared a thin, pale strip untouched by sun.

Draco murmured in his sleep, and Neville silenced the words with a kiss, turning Draco’s head to face him so he could claim his mouth deeply. By the time it was done, Draco’s eyes blinked open, sleepily staring at him.

“Longbottom?” Draco murmured. “This looks to be one of my better dreams.”

“And why is it a dream?” Neville’s deft fingers worked the buttons of Draco’s shirt, spreading it so that Neville could touch skin, large hand spreading across Draco’s chest. 

“You don’t want to be here.” Draco rolled them over, straddling Neville, giving his belly a place to be between them. “You only want our son.” He shivered on those words, breath hissing out in a soft shudder as his hands slid beneath Neville’s shirt.

Neville’s hands stroked over the sides of the roundness of Draco’s skin, feeling how taut it was. One hand slid lower and between them, finding the half-hard bulge in Draco’s shorts. “I don’t only want our son,” Neville murmured. “Here.” He took Draco’s hand and brought it down to where Neville was already aching and ready, thick and hard and trapped in his boxers.

Draco’s hand wrapped around Neville’s length, squeezing and stroking once despite the fabric that hid him away. Draco’s eyes closed and he shook his head. “A brilliant dream,” he murmured. “One in which I can almost think that you—” His voice broke, trailing off into a small moan.

It was the moan that undid Neville. Ever since this strange relationship had begun, Neville had loved the way Draco came undone. He loved that he was able to do that to Draco, able to strip the proper demeanor away and reduce him to quivering. To begging.

Neville took a chance and vanished their clothing, hoping it could be retrieved later from wherever it had gone. When he slid off the bed, Draco came pliantly with him, letting Neville turn him to face the bed, placing his hands on the mattress and lifting his arse. His belly hung free, not compressed or in the way as Neville pressed close behind him. Another spell summoned the lube, then Neville let his wand fall to the side. He wouldn’t need it for a while, not if things went as planned.

He slicked two fingers and slid them into Draco, stroking until he called forth another moan. He crooked them just so, pressing deep as he asked, “ _What_ , Draco? Finish what you were going to say.”

“Fuck,” Draco moaned. “Please…”

“Not until you tell me.” Neville stroked lube over his own prick and pressed close enough that he stroked between Draco’s legs, slick cock rubbing against hanging balls. “You can almost think I _what_?” His voice was low. Coaxing. The same way he spoke to his plants as he spread magic over them, teasing them into growing for him.

“Love me.” The words were whispered to the sheets, muffled as Draco clung to the blanket, balling them up in his fists as he kept his head down.

Those were words Neville had never thought he might hear from Draco Malfoy of all people, and for a moment, muffled as they were, he wasn’t sure he had heard them in actuality. “What was that?” he murmured, body going still as his mouth found Draco’s ear. Why would Draco want Neville to love him, unless… Neville blinked. Oh. “Do you love me?”

Silence except the pounding of their hearts and the harsh breath of hunger. Draco groaned. “Yes.”

Neville entered him slowly, pressing in thick inch by inch until he was seated fully within Draco’s arse. He tugged gently until Draco stood, then turned just as carefully so Neville could sit on the edge of the bed, Draco straddling his legs and impaled on his prick. It let Neville cradle him against his chest, let him stroke him from shoulder to hip. When Draco tilted his head back, Neville claimed his mouth for a slow kiss, gentling the desperate hunger. “Draco,” he murmured, as his hips twitched, thrusting shallowly into Draco.

Neville’s hand slid over Draco’s cock, wanking him slowly to match with each shallow thrust while his other hand tried to touch every bit of exposed skin he could reach. He cradled Draco’s thick belly, unaccountably aroused by the thought that this was _their_ son, someone they had created together, and would raise together. Each hitch of breath was a pleasure, each roll of Draco’s hips, anxious for more touch, anxious to reach that crest… every moment was arousing.

He was able to hold off until Draco’s movements became erratic. Until he started begging _pleaseohMerlinpleaseIneedto—_ and Neville responded with a hard thrust, as deep as he could go until Draco cried out and spasmed around him. Sticky, warm fluid covered Neville’s hand and still he stroked him through it, even as he bit down on Draco’s shoulder to muffle his own groan of completion as he spilled into Draco’s arse.

Low breath, easing to become soft and steady. Under Neville’s hand on Draco’s belly there was movement, a slow roll from their son, and Neville smiled.

“I’m not dreaming,” Draco murmured.

Neville felt the shift in his demeanor, felt Draco’s body tense. He kissed his shoulder. “No, you’re not dreaming. I have my prick in your bum, Draco. Don’t put on that bloody Malfoy mask now; I’ve already heard you say you love me.”

No response save the quick intake of breath.

“You were awake,” Neville murmured, because he was sure the dream had been an excuse. “It’s why you’ve been moping about, I was just too much of an idiot to see it.”

“All you wanted was your son,” Draco muttered. He sat up, but Neville pulled him back, rolling until they both lay with tangled limbs on the bed.

“All I thought I could have was our son,” Neville corrected. “You’re bloody well married, Draco. You have children. I didn’t want to break that up.” He’d never take children from their father, not after the childhood he’d had. And he’d always suspected Draco wanted to have a better relationship with his children than he’d had growing up as well.

“You’re here now.” Draco disentangled himself, rolling over to lie on his side, facing Neville. His lips pursed. “You’re in my bed, Longbottom. You have just fucked me in the bed where I sleep with my wife.”

Neville lay back, gaze shifting side to side as he stretched out. “We’ll have to make it bigger,” he decided. “And your one in the Manor as well.”

One eyebrow arched. “Explain.”

“I’ve been talking with Astoria.” Neville rolled up onto his side and paused to find Draco’s mouth. “We’ve decided to change the bloody rules. I’ll be moving in when we’ve returned, and I’ll be claiming that I’ve fathered our son. He’ll be a Malfoy, but so will I.”

It was a strange sight to see Draco Malfoy struck dumb, those grey eyes almost silver in confusion.

“I didn’t think you’d want to be a Longbottom,” Neville said mildly. “Longbottom Manor doesn’t have quite the same ring about it as Malfoy Manor does. And the two of you and the children are already Malfoys. It only makes sense for me to take your name.”

“Are you asking me to marry you?” Both eyebrows rose this time as Draco seemed to follow his logic. “Impossible. Astoria and I are already bonded.”

Neville grinned. “And that’s where we’re changing the rules. Everyone thinks it can only be the two of you, but why can’t it be me as well? We’ve children together. We’re going to bloody well raise the whole lot of them as one family. And I’m not asking you—she’s already asked me, and I’ve said yes.”

Draco huffed a small sigh. “Society will have a fit.”

“I don’t care.” Neville shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve never cared for what Society thinks. We’ll set a new trend. I’m sure there are other bent blokes who might take advantage of following this trend, or folks who can’t have children through normal means. Or any number of reasons for inheritance, since you’re all so bloody interested in bloodlines and land. Doesn’t matter. We’ve got what we’ve got, and we’ll hold our heads high and says it’s right. As long as the three of us agree, that’s all that matters.”

Neville knew it wasn’t as simple as that, but he also knew that there was something to be said for bulling forward and just making your own rules. People had to give way and accept it soon enough. They’d make it work.

#

By the time the Malfoy family returned from France, rumors buzzed through Society about what had actually happened. There were stories of Malfoy keeping his illicit lover in a home on the beach, or that Astoria had fled with an attractive French man after her husband’s betrayal. The truth, when it came out, could be traced to Augusta Longbottom, who marched into the offices of the Daily Prophet and demanded that the paper publish the wedding photos of her son and the Malfoys. After all, she had told them, it was best that the wedding announcement appear before the all too imminent birth announcement of their son.

The Malfoys waited until their son—Alistair Lucius Malfoy—was born before returning home. Draco was too uncomfortable to travel while nine months pregnant, and utterly unwilling to make his first appearance with his new husband while still—in his words—as large as a Hippogriff. Someone leaked the time of their arrival and they stepped out of the Portkey to a flash of lights that left Glyneth and Alistair crying, and the older girls hiding behind Neville’s legs.

Draco fixed the reporters with a stare. “Am I to understand that while I was gone, the rules of common decency and privacy were repealed? If you have something to say to my family, you may choose to make an appointment to visit us at the Manor. Now if you don’t mind, we are exhausted from the time change, and have children who need naps.”

“Mr. Malfoy—” The reporter stopped when both Draco and Neville turned to look at her.

“Yes?” Neville asked. He reached out for their son, tucking Alistair neatly into the crook of his elbow while Astoria carried Glyneth. The two girls had tiny bags that they tugged after them, with leashes and a dozen small legs per bag. Draco worked to ensure that the rest of the luggage floated along behind.

“I—” She hesitated again. “This isn’t done,” she finally said.

“What isn’t done?” Neville inquired, as if he had no idea what she meant. Draco smirked. All reservations he’d held had fallen in the face of Neville’s calm acceptance of everything around him. He’d come to realize that he had formidable allies in Neville and his grandmother.

“This!” The reporter gestured at the three adults and four small children. “You can’t possibly be married.”

“Why not?” Neville shifted Alistair slightly as the boy fussed. “We’ve the certificate to prove it, and the magical bond is sound. We’re married now. One family.”

“You can’t say it isn’t done,” Astoria added sharply, “because as you can see, it most certainly _has_ been done. And you can’t say nobody would do such a thing, because you can hardly imply that a Malfoy is _nobody_.” She smiled, bright and piercing, waiting while a photographer captured her image. “I suggest that Society needs to rethink what is and isn’t done. After all, magic has proven the impossible to be quite possible before. Why should this be any different?”

That was the woman Draco had married and fallen in love with, as was the man who was now asking in his mild voice, “Did you get that? If you’d like, I could repeat it so you can quote it in the paper. Best to make sure you get it right the first time.”

“No, Mr. L—Malfoy,” the reported nodded over her notes, refusing to look them in the eye. “I’ve got it.”

“Are we ready to go then?” Draco arched one eyebrow, and waited for his family to collect around him. Neville smiled gently at him, and Astoria’s pride made her gaze fond. They ignored the photographer that continued to snap more pictures as they made their way out. Three adults. Four children.

One family, heading home.


End file.
